Call me Boots. I'm a PFC, 20 years old, soon to be mechanic on the base and I was born in Hungary, I speak Hungarian, English and a very few words in Russian and Italian. Living in a dormitory room on the base.
(Hiii, mod is Knu or Pedra, adult, they/them, this is an oc and rp blog. English is my second language so I won't use it perfectly but I try my best. My personal blog is @knusstuff , you can find drawings there and my other oc blog tagged in the intro.)
(Oc details and rules:)
General information:
Name: -
Call-sign: Boots
Y.O.S: 4
D.O.B: 2005 -
Rank: PFC
Age: 21
Sex: Female
Appearance:
Height: 5'8 / 170cm
Weight: 132 lbs/ 60 kg
Skin color: White
Body type: toned
Hair colour: dark brown
Hair lenght: outgrown buzzcut
Eye colour: grayish blue
Tattoos: none
Scars:
- two contracture scars on the sides of her left forearm
- scratch scars going in the same direction on her back
- two skin replacements instead of breasts
- severely mutilated ears (no hearing damage)
-small horizontal scar on left cheek
Piercings and jewellery: both ears pierced but not wearing earrings nor any other jewellery
Health data:
Blood type: B positive
Diagnoses: Misophonia, Survivor's guilt
Personal information:
Sexuality: ?
Birthplace: Hungary
-
NSFW content may appear in my rp stories, such as detailed injuries, drinking, flirting, touching and more. If you still decide to interact, it's on you.
When it's Blue it is me, Knu talking, the mod (not the oc). When it's Red, it's really serious text.
My rules:
--You can:
-send NSFW asks, to a limit.
-flirt with the character
-roleplay with the character
-chat with the character
-send ask to the mod
-dm the mod
--You can Not:
-send extreme and/or too detailed NSFW asks
-send NSFW pictures
-flirt (not playfully) with the mod. Mod is not intrested in a realitionship. I have a partner.
-ask about politics
-ask for personal information from the mod
-send hate or hurtful wishes towards anyone, especially out of character
-talk behind someone's back, especially out of character
---
Boots had long darkbrown hair that was always tied up in a bun but accidentally trimmed down a part from it and then she got ordered to shave it all off. 30% of the time she wears a shemagh wrapped around her head because of a trauma.
She can fix smaller problems on military vehicles and usually wears her uniform, she wants to be a automotive mechatronics specialist (mechanic).
She wants to get to know people around the base and make friends but she doesn't want to be annoying. She can be flirty but most of the time she's calm and just friendly.
Trauma and story behind scars wills unfold trough rps.
HyenaHybrid!Boots exists, you can send a hybrid au rp ask too
If you have a problem with me, ignore this blog.
I accept criticism but don't be an asshole about it.
(This is Knu in real life again, I made this blog so I can somewhat join the cod community and roleplay as my oc. It's for fun, I always loved d&d too. I love the game, tried playing it but mostly I just watched gameplays, if I don't say a rank correctly or mess up something in the lore forgive me.)
*sighs* Long mission, from start to end it was a pain in the ass.
*raises the hand from Icicle's head for a second to count with fingers* Shit visibility, air support failed, tank exploded... *goes back to petting Icicle.* Anyway, I'm happy to be back.
*sighs* Long mission, from start to end it was a pain in the ass.
*raises the hand from Icicle's head for a second to count with fingers* Shit visibility, air support failed, tank exploded... *goes back to petting Icicle.* Anyway, I'm happy to be back.
It's an average and warm spring afternoon in terms of street traffic on the outskirts of the city, the sun finally came out again a few days ago. The blue of the sky is already starting to turn pink as the sun moves west.
You're riding your motorbike / sitting in your car and you've just reached a traffic light that has turned red and you have time to breathe for half a minute. In your free time, you've planned to go to one of your favorite places to eat. (After the food at the base, this will be heavenly.)
After a while, the light has turned yellow, everyone starts moving a little when you hear a buzzing sound. The light has turned green, the sound gets louder and louder, then like a bug in the corner of your eye, a motorbike flies past you. There are no police officers anywhere, the other lane is empty, the weather is good.
When you get into the city and get to the place to eat, in its parking lot you see the motorbike that just passed you at the traffic light and a helmet attached to the handlebars. It looks like a 600-700cc, probably custom-built café racer. Inside the building, its owner is eating.
Liliya was always on duty. Especially when she was in a foreign country.
Britian was no exception, but she had left her position, sitting in a hotel room, tuning in to military broadcasts for hours to try and catch a time the base would be empty for her to sneak in and steal some data, to get something to eat. She couldn't subside on CLIF bars forever. Her motorbike had been there for her when she arrived, new to the town, just a week ago. She tried to act like a tourist, but her patience was running out.
The sun had magically gotten over its tendency to hide in the British Isles just to spite her. Her skin used to the dim indirect Russian sun couldn't hold up for long during the day here.
She vaulted off her bike. A Ducti, black like most of her gear, and built for speed. That's all she would need it for.
The inside of the diner was quiet. Liliya preferred to order out, she could handle the smell of the food in her hotel room. She could not handle the possibility of being recognized by any soldiers here who might identify her as an Ultranationalist sympathizer. Unfortunately, the diner didn't do takeout. Seriously, who didn't do takeout?
Liliya ordered without taking her helmet off. She could eat in the back, quickly anyway. Not like anyone was going to stop her. She eyed the owner of the motorbike through her tinted visor. Military, that was clear. But if she stayed under the radar there was no way she was going to be interacted with. At least, that's how it usually went.
When Boots arrived at the parking lot and stopped her motorcycle, she just sat there for a minute and breathed.
It was the most liberating feeling in the world to put on her protective gear again, put on her helmet, get in the saddle and speed down the road, feel the black wheels grip the asphalt. Her reflexes never went away and for a moment she forgot all her problems. That's why she didn't drink,... here she had this.
The vehicle was still warm and clicked softly for a while. She got off the motorcycle, turned off the engine, locked her helmet to the handlebars and walked into the restaurant. The bartender recognized her, they shook hands, exchanged a few words. Soon she was sitting at a dimly lit table in the corner, munching on her food, not taking off her coat or the shemagh around her neck. Her stubby ears twitched at the door opening and her gaze almost immediately fell on the woman in the helmet. She didn't stare, but she knew exactly that a biker would only order with their helmet on if they were in a hurry or didn't want to make a fuss. She had seen this helmet once before but couldn't figure out where. Maybe on a magazine? Or.. a mission report?
She couldn't see the parking lot through the windows, nor the stranger's bike. She sat, ate and watched. It would have been pointless to take off her shemagh or leather jacket with the patches on it, the other biker would surely have figured out that Boots was a soldier, if the stranger herself was one.
She was definitely curious. She hesitated whether to interact with her, but for now she just watched. She thought she would go out to the parking lot later to check her motorcycle.
Liliya grabbed her food and headed to the back of the restaurant, her steps precise and gathered. She slid into a back booth, keeping her head down.
Pulling off her helmet was one of the most freeing feelings. After the heat outside the cold restaurant air was a welcome feeling on her skin. Her helmet, chipped slightly at the neck from a small crash she had taken about two years ago rested next to her hip. Small was a bit of an understatement. Liliya had been shot off on the eastern side of the Alps and bashed the side of her helmet against a rock.
She was hungry, God she was so hungry. She flicked out a pair of sunglasses and put them on.
Liliya dug into her food fast, keeping her eyes down. Eat and get out. She counted the seconds in her head. One. Two. She paused and wiped her mouth, a glance and you would have thought she belonged there. Her shoulders relaxed, her back straight as an arrow, her left arm resting on the table. Five. Six.
Her eyes flicked between the parking lot and the woman at the counter as she ate. The food as decent as any, tasted amazing to her severely lacking diet. Ten. Liliya paused. She was getting a little too much unwelcome attention from her fellow biker at the bar.
She glanced back outside at the darkening sky, the more eager stars already poking their way through the rosey sky.
Boots slowly finished eating and sat back contentedly for a moment. She didn't make eye contact with the woman who now had her helmet off, but she was becoming more and more familiar to her. Finally, she just stood up from her seat, paid for her food, and after a stretch, went out the main entrance.
She shouldn't get into any trouble, especially now that she was on leave. But her curiosity wouldn't let her rest. "Don't be stupid, don't be stupid..." - she kept telling herself.
The wind outside had gotten a little stronger than it had been before, but that was only good enough to creep under the soldier's coat and cool her down a bit. She kept moving slowly towards her bike, first looking to the right, then to the left. A few parking spaces down from her own, close to the back entrance, she saw the bike. A black Ducati. If she ever wanted to catch up, she would have to be very skilled, but that only depended on its rider. Still, she felt compelled to try, at least to interact.
She leaned against her motorcycle and looked up at the stars. By the time the stranger finished eating, she would have time to check a few things on her own vehicle.
Liliya finished eating and stood up, She took a moment to steady herself on the table before grabbing her helmet and going up to the counter to pay. The person at the checkout was friendly and let her pay in cash. Thank god.
She put a few bills on the counter as payment and flashed a closed-mouth smile at the worker before glancing outside.
Het eyes immediately snapped to the woman looking at her bike. The sky was dimming fast outside. Liliyas jaw clenched. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to someone.
Liliya waved a thanks at the employee and walked outside. The bell heralding her departure.
At least it was cooling off, Liliya thought as she pulled her helmet on, She couldn't stand another week here. Nut she was sent in alone, this was supposed to be a covert mission. Nothing like the airport. She was alone here.
Liliya stared at the setting sun and her heart ached for a moment for her home in russia. Her small, fifteenth-floor apartment in moscow was all she could think about. Cold. Unlike the uncomfortable warmth of the isle.
Liliya flipped the tinted visor of her helmet down. It definitely didn't meet British law requirements, the tint barely allowing someone to see her facial movements in direct light. She headed to her bike.
The motorcycle looked almost fresh off the line. Except a few small details. Most of the heavier parts had been replaced with carbon fibre alternatives and some had replaced the exhaust system. The sprockets had also been changed, big on the front, smaller on the back. But all done to make the bike look the same at a glance. If anything the only part of the bike that didn't look factory added was the license plate. It was british standard but the screws keeping it in place had been changed so many times they were starting to get stripped.
Liliya placed a hand on the bike seat, quietly claiming her ownership of the vehicle.
Boots sat down on the ground next to her bike and fiddled with something on it, ignoring the stranger at first but listening to her the whole time to make sure she knew where she was. It was instinctive and her stubby ears just helped her.
When the stranger put her hand on the saddle Boots stood up, brushed herself off and spoke as she put away her tools and closed her jacket.
"You need to tighten your chain a bit, but it's a nice bike." She sat on her own machine and pulled on her gloves. She didn't look in the direction of the other woman, was not looking for trouble.
Liliya barely spared the other woman a glance but bent down slightly to flick the chain. It was loose. Honestly what was she paying for. Served her right, getting it tuned by someone she didn't know. Fast work always made worse results she had found.
Liliya nodded slowly and straightened up. She gave a short and stiff two fingered salute in recognition. Maybe a bit too militant for her tourist persona but old habits die hard.
She hopped on her bike and did a quick check as always. A discreet bug check, under panels and between gears. Her ever-gloved hands expertly flicking through the motions she had gone through hundreds of times.
Glad to have a bit of food in her stomach she flicked her kickstand up and immediately her keys slipped from her pocket and hit the floor. A single silver key for the bike and a single orthodox cross keychain. "Пиздец" She muttered under he breath. The curse slipping out unintentionally easy.
Liliya swiped her keys up and checked for a dent on the metal cross, brushing her thumb over it carefully.
Boots pulled on her helmet and closed its visor before looking at the woman. Her own key was already in her hand and she rested her palm on the fuel tank for a moment.
She could have left whenever she wanted, her equipment and stuff were all there with her. The other biker's key could have been reflected in her visor for a moment but she didn't stare for long, she just memorized everything she could and calmly waved back with two fingers before inserting her key into the keyhole on the bike. She started the bike, it roared, she backed out of the parking space before slowly rolling out of the parking lot, moments later she was gone, only the bike's voice remained.
